


Is This Thing On?

by QueerOnTilMorning



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Begging, Bottom Richie Tozier, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Remote Controlled Vibrator, Richie Tozier's Stand Up Act, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Teasing, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/pseuds/QueerOnTilMorning
Summary: It’s only ten seconds or so before the silicone plug in his ass stops vibrating, but Richie’s already about to lose his fucking mind.He’s focusing on his breathing, trying to will his erection away, when Eddie slips back into the chair beside him. “Your beer,” he says casually, setting the bottle on the table as though he hasn’t just been using the remote control in his pocket to test the limits of Richie’s sanity.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 49
Kudos: 660





	Is This Thing On?

**Author's Note:**

> This is fully @justalittlegreen's fault. Thank you for the interfandom prompts and encouragement.

Richie shifts in his seat as he waits for Eddie to come back with their drinks. He hopes it’s not too obvious that he’s barely paying attention to the nervous comic onstage. Magdalena, who hosts this open mic, is one of Richie’s favorite people in the business, but her commitment to nurturing new talent means a lot of half-baked jokes delivered by performers in visible pain. Although sympathetic embarrassment isn’t the only reason Richie’s mind is wandering tonight.

He checks his phone. Eddie’s been gone for more than ten minutes, and the venue isn’t  _ that  _ crowded. Maybe he’s--

_ Oh. _

Oh  _ fuck. _

Richie sits up straight, clenching his thighs. He bites his tongue as the intensity washes over him, desperately trying to keep it from showing on his face.  _ Goddamn you, Eddie, _ he thinks, his mind going hazy with love and lust. He scoots his chair in toward the table and hopes it’s enough to hide that he’s starting to get hard.

It’s only ten seconds or so before the silicone plug in his ass stops vibrating, but Richie’s already about to lose his fucking mind.

He’s focusing on his breathing, trying to will his erection away, when Eddie slips back into the chair beside him. “Your beer,” he says casually, setting the bottle on the table as though he hasn’t just been using the remote control in his pocket to test the limits of Richie’s sanity.

“Strong with a good head, just like--” he starts, but Eddie cuts him off.

“That doesn’t even make sense as a reference to my dick.”

“Your mom makes sense as a reference to my dick” is the best Richie can come up with, under the circumstances. Eddie smirks at him and-- _ shit, goddammit-- _ eases his hand back into his pocket.

Knowing what's coming, Richie braces himself. It doesn't help. The vibration is low--nowhere near the plug's highest setting--but the gentle curve of its tip presses like a beckoning finger on the _ exact _ spot Richie both wants and can't stand to be touched. He manages to stifle a groan, but he can't control the fact that his skin is flushing pink, or that he's definitely pitching a respectable tent in his jeans. Eddie notices, and his eyes sparkle.

"Was this a good idea?" he murmurs.

"It's fucking torture," Richie says in a choked whisper.

"So yes, then," says Eddie. His hand goes to his pocket again. Richie is about to thank him for the small mercy, but instead of switching the thing off, Eddie turns it _ up. _ The buzzing inside Richie intensifies, and he grits his teeth against a whine.

"You look so good," Eddie says in that same low tone, the one that seems to resonate in time with the vibrations slowly taking Richie apart. "This is so hot, watching you get all worked up when you can't moan or touch yourself or beg for me."

Richie grips his drink so hard he thinks his fingers might go straight through the glass bottle. "Son of a bitch," he hisses, and drains half the beer without taking a breath.

"Richie!" Magdalena's voice is bright as she wraps her arms around him from behind. "I'm so glad you made it!"

"Oh, uh, hey," he stammers. "Yeah, it's been a while, so we thought we'd--"

"You want to sign up?" she asks, grabbing a chair from another table to perch next to him. "I could really use your energy tonight. This crowd is kinda dead. Hey, Eddie."

"Hey, Lena," Eddie says. His hand is still in his pocket, and trying to anticipate what he's going to do is fucking _ killing _ Richie, but Eddie's smiling at their friend like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"I don't think so," Richie says, keeping his voice steady. "Anyway, isn't your list full?"

Magdalena waves her hand. "I'll squeeze you in somewhere."

"Yeah, Rich," Eddie says. "It's not too hard to find some wiggle room." He doesn't raise his eyebrows, there's absolutely no hint of suggestiveness in his voice, but  _ goddammit, _ Eds, you sly, gorgeous fuck. Christ, Richie loves him.

"I don't really have any--" he starts.

"Don't be modest," Eddie cuts him off. "You've been working on some new material. This is a great time to take it for a spin." Richie tries to plead _ have pity on me _ with his eyes; Eddie's eyes smirk back,  _ fat chance. _

"Bring out the new shit!" Magdalena urges. "Come on, please?"

Richie's about to say "thanks but no thanks" when Eddie clicks the vibrator up a notch. As Richie's whole body goes rigid, what comes out of his mouth is "Yeah, thanks."  _ Fuck. _

Magdalena claps her hands once decisively. "Perfect! I'll get you up there in a few minutes. Just have a tight five ready."

"Oh, it's nice and tight," Eddie reassures her. Richie could _ scream.  _ How does Magdalena not notice that he's being murdered right before her eyes?

Richie waits maybe five seconds after she walks away before pushing back his chair. "Where are you going?" Eddie asks, all innocent with his big doe eyes.

"I'm going to the bathroom to take this thing out before I fucking jizz my pants onstage," Richie snaps through gritted teeth.

"Richie." Eddie places a hand on his arm. The touch looks gentle, but just like his voice, it's a breath away from turning to steel. "I didn't give you permission to do that."

Richie's knees go weak, and he sinks back into his seat. "Eddie," he says, hearing the whine in his voice but unable to do anything about it. The pressure on his prostate is all he can think about, a tiny earthquake happening inside him, fracturing all his fault lines. "Eds, I  _ can't--" _

Eddie turns the vibration all the way off. "Do you need to use your safeword, baby?"

Richie takes a deep breath, trying to think.

"You know it's okay," Eddie reminds him. "I'll never be disappointed in you for needing to stop. You can safeword and we can be done."

Of course it's true. Eddie would never give him a hard time about ending a scene. He can stop here, do his five-minute set without distraction, enjoy the rest of the evening--hell, they might even still have sex when they get home.

But--

But he wants to make Eddie  _ proud _ of him. He wants to be rewarded, to be pushed past his limits, shattered and rebuilt, and then kissed on the forehead and told he's done a good job. If Eddie fucks him tonight, he wants it to be because he's _ earned _ it.

This maddening game they're playing wasn't Eddie's idea, after all. It was Richie's.

"No," he decides. "Let's keep going."

Eddie flashes him the really good smile, with the dimples you could swim in. "That's my baby," he says softly. "You want to be good for me, don't you? Want to show me how much you can take?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Richie nods. Eddie turns the vibrator back on to its lowest setting. It purrs through him, warm and tantalizing. No one is looking at him but Eddie, so he lets his eyes fall closed, loses himself in the sensation for a moment.

Eddie puts his hand on Richie's knee. "Is that good, love?" Richie nods again, and Eddie gives his thigh a reassuring squeeze. "Remember, you don't have my permission to come."

"I know," he says, his voice high and breathy. "I won't." He's not even fully hard right now, though he's hot and sensitive all over, his whole body aching with the tension. He can't believe he's gotten roped into _ performing, _ when all he wants is for Eddie to bend him over the nearest available surface.

This is agony.

Richie _ loves _ it.

"Are you going to use it while I'm onstage?" he asks nervously.

"No, sweetheart," says Eddie. He takes Richie's hand and holds it firmly, grounding him. "I won't. I promise. I'll turn it off until you're done."

"Okay," Richie whispers. A beat later, he remembers to say "Thank you."

Eddie chuckles. "I won't touch it, but--" He leans in until his lips are almost brushing Richie's ear. "I like knowing that I could." Richie squirms. "I could make you fall apart, right in front of everyone. I could make you forget your own name." He kisses Richie on the cheek. "And you just have to go up there and trust that I won't do it."

Richie rubs his free hand over his face. "Jesus." That's exactly why he suggested this: Eddie being in total control, Eddie choosing what he feels and when. It's terrifying and exhilarating and, well,  _ ridiculously _ hot.

Eddie puts his hand in his pocket again. This time he switches the vibrator to a pattern that rises and falls like waves, building intensity until it's nearly unbearable, then tapering off to almost nothing. Richie's eyes are rolling back in his head. The feeling is rhythmic, urgent--God, it's like being fucked. He's sitting here in a reasonably well-lit, public place, and Eddie is _ fucking him, _ and no one knows but the two of them.

Richie makes a strangled sound. The plug is so deep, he thinks incoherently. Eddie put it in him so _ deep. _

Abruptly, the swells of feeling stop. "Shh," Eddie says, brushing Richie's hair back from his face. "Don't get carried away, sweetheart."

It fucking  _ hurts _ to be this turned on. Richie closes his eyes and summons the least arousing image he can think of, the one he has filed away in his memory for exactly this purpose: Eddie and Myra's wedding portrait, her wide, practiced smile, his resignation.

Yep, that does it. He feels his hard-on starting to flag, and for the first time in what seems like hours, he tunes in to what's being said onstage.

"My very dear friend, here to try out some brand new material on you lucky fuckers--please welcome Richie 'Trashmouth' Tozier!"

As Richie gets to his feet and makes his way between the obstacle course of tables, it occurs to him that this might be the least anxious he's ever been before getting onstage. He didn't even finish his beer.

“Hey, guys,” he says when he reaches the microphone. There are some cheers from people who recognize him, but no huge shift in energy; most of the crowd either doesn’t know who he is or doesn’t care. Perfect. “My boyfriend is a risk analyst,” Richie continues. “Anyone know what that is?”

Someone yells “woo!” from the back of the room. Richie shakes his head. “If you’re yelling ‘woo,’ you definitely have no fucking idea what a risk analyst is. No, it’s cool, I don’t either,” he adds hastily. That gets a decent laugh. “He’s explained what he does to me a bunch of times, but I never retain any of it. In my defense, it’s really fucking boring.”

There are no blinding spotlights in this room; Richie can see every member of the small audience. He concentrates hard on not looking at Eddie. It's always dangerous to make eye contact during a set, but tonight his body and mind are kindling, ready to be ignited. He needs to stay away from the spark.

He can _ feel _ him. He can feel Eddie inside. If they look at each other, he can't be held responsible for what will happen.

“I’m so bad at paying attention to things I don’t care about. One time I climbed out a window to get out of this super boring conversation. The fucked-up thing was that my therapist still charged me for the full hour.” More laughter. “But it’s even worse when it’s a hot person talking about something boring. My boyfriend starts telling me about work and it’s just, like, how do you expect me to focus on… fucking statistics, or whatever, when I could be sucking your dick? I’m undressing him with my eyes and ignoring him with my ears.”

His five minutes fly by; the audience doesn't love or hate him, he gets a few good chucks, and then he's hopping off the stage and weaving his way back to their table. Eddie's smiling, apparently not too pissed about the jokes at his career's expense.

He lets Richie get settled back into his seat before he turns on the vibrator again. No pattern this time, just a powerful buzz that has him practically levitating, his dick coming to attention with a nearly audible  _ snap.  _ Richie can't stifle the noise he makes, but it's mostly drowned out in the applause for the next comic approaching the mic.

"That was so good, baby," Eddie says.

Richie, who's an attention slut in addition to the regular kind, preens and writhes all at once. "You think so?"

"You did a great job. You were really funny." Eddie's eyes are warm and sincere. Richie's bad at taking compliments under the best of circumstances, but right now, dizzy with arousal and the adrenaline of performing, he feels like he might burst into tears.

"I love you, Eds," he murmurs, eyelids fluttering closed as the vibration slowly but surely turns everything inside his body to molten lava.

"I love you too." Eddie's warm hand rests on the back of Richie's neck, playing with his curls. He should probably get a haircut. He should probably go home and let Eddie absolutely fucking destroy him.

Magdalena walks by their table. "That was great!" she says to Richie. Then, to Eddie, "Thanks for encouraging him to get up there."

"What, he gets the credit?" Richie asks, indignant.

"Hey, I know who pulls your strings," she says with a wink. "Have another drink, on the house. Both of you."

"That's so nice of you," Eddie says. "Richie, you want to go grab us refills?" As if the sadistic, Bambi-looking motherfucker doesn't know Richie will be arrested for indecency if he gets out of this chair.

"In a minute," he chokes out, gesturing to his half-full beer. "Still working on this one."

Magdalena raises her eyebrows, and Richie knows she's thinking about how fast he could put away a beer when they first met. "No rush," she says. She claps Eddie on the shoulder. "You're good for him, you know that?"

"He's good for me, too," says Eddie, with a little smile that's just for Richie.

"Baby," Richie says in a very small voice when Magdalena is gone. "Take me home and let me be good for you." The pressure inside him is building inexorably, like a scream he won't be able to hold back much longer.

"You don't want that free drink?" Eddie asks, still smiling. "You're really growing as a person."

"I'm fucking growing as a person in my  _ pants," _ Richie says. "Get me _ out _ of here."

"We haven't been here very long," Eddie points out. Richie tries to suppress a whine. Eddie taps his fingers on the table, looking pensive, then appears to make up his mind. "But I think it was long enough for our first try. I bet you'll be able to go longer, the more you practice."

"I will, I promise," Richie says in a rush. "I'll practice until I can do such a good job for you."

Eddie looks at him seriously. "Sweetheart, you've already done such a good job for me. I'm so proud of you tonight."

Richie bites his lip and looks away. "No, look at me," says Eddie.

When Richie looks back, tears are prickling hot in his eyes--from frustration, from happiness, from the mortifying ordeal of being known. He feels like he’s misplaced his skin, like he’s all raw nerves.

“I am so proud of you,” Eddie says again. “You’ve done everything I said, and I know it’s been really hard.” Richie is so overwrought he doesn’t even respond to that straight line, and maybe that’s what convinces Eddie that they really do need to leave. “Let’s go home, my love.”

“Are you…” Richie gulps. “Are you going to turn that thing off so I can walk?”

“No.”

Richie follows  _ very  _ close behind Eddie on their way out the door.

They get into the car without speaking. Eddie leans over from the driver’s side to help Richie buckle his seatbelt after he fumbles it twice. He takes his time adjusting the mirrors to his satisfaction, then turns on the engine and vacillates between two Pandora stations. Before pulling out into the empty street, he turns on his blinker and carefully checks his blind spot. All the time, Richie is a knot of furious tension, jaw tight, legs trembling, trying to contain the snarling want inside him.

“Okay,” Eddie says finally.

“Okay?” Richie says, holding his breath.

Eddie looks over at him, his eyes huge and black in the silvery streetlight. “You can beg me to come now.”

The floodgates disintegrate on impact. “Oh, fuck, baby, please let me come,” Richie moans, his voice wrecked with desperation. “Please, fuck, I’ll do anything, I need to come so fucking bad. Take me home and fuck me, please,  _ please. _ ”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice is a low rasp. “Think you can make it until we get home?”

“I’ll try, I’m trying so hard, just please, you’ve gotta let me come--”

Eddie turns the vibrator up a notch. Maybe two. Numbers are meaningless. Richie is apocalyptically hard, his whole body on fucking fire. He digs his hands into his own hair and holds on for dear life.

“You’re so cute like this,” Eddie says, and Richie  _ sobs. _ “Can you come right now, without me touching you?”

“I can, I can,” Richie gasps. “If you’ll let me.”

“Do it,” Eddie says quietly.

Richie’s hips slam up against the seatbelt, pulling it taut as his back arches and he abandons himself completely. His head thumps into the window. He thrusts into nothing, exploding, spilling over, turning to ashes, ripped apart by a feral pack of mixed metaphors, annihilated by bliss.

Eddie keeps driving, murmuring encouragement as Richie slowly tries to piece himself back together from his component atoms. At some point, he realizes Eddie has turned off the vibrator.

Fuck, he’s  _ crying. _ His pants are soaked with come, and the rest of him is soaked with sweat and tears, and he’s fucking weeping with his forehead against the window as Eddie pulls the car up in front of their house.

After he parks, Eddie comes around to Richie’s side of the car and opens the door. He crouches to brush his hair out of his face and kisses him tenderly. “That was so good, baby,” he says. “You did so well.” Carefully, he unlatches Richie’s seat belt and pulls him to his feet.

Even though he has wet sand where his major muscle groups should be, Richie manages to put his arms around Eddie’s neck and hug him close, the way he’s wanted to all evening. “Fuck,” he whispers. “That was amazing. Thank you.”

Eddie grins. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “I’m not even close to finished with you tonight.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the wide world spins and spits turmoil (love will come to you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25404433) by [justalittlegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen)
  * [the hardest to learn was the least complicated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25696825) by [justalittlegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen)




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